We’re tempted to hand this one over to Miss Marschallin, quite frankly. It’s called Valarian Nights, an not for nothing, but Miss Marschallin adores valerian. More even than catnip, and she loves catnip.
A funny thing about valerian; it puts humans to sleep but it revs cats up like nothing on earth. Valerian Dolphin (the one handmade in Germany that we had to replace after much improbable internet googling) remains her stand-out cat toy by a country mile.
So, Valarian Nights. Presumably intended to wake up your drowsy feline around the same time you drift off to sleep. Possibly simultaneously. Ever tried having milky tea with a cat around? We’re assuming a similar principle is in effect here.
Anyway, we didn’t give it to Miss Marschallin. Her schedule was taken up with murdering the carpet. It’s evil, is our carpet. It’s staging a coupe with the green chairs. They’re conspiring for independence, or maybe a Dawlarture (that’s Dawlish Departure, if you too were wondering) or something. Must be stopped. Anyway. Tea.
It tastes surprisingly of apple, which is good because we’ve never had much love for Camomile, which is mixed in with the valerian root for good measure. Good luck to anyone staying awake and drinking this cup. But it’s a pleasant sleepy-time tea, thus proving anything is indeed possible. Up to and probably including the departure of the furniture in a fit of outrage from the house. Or something. Look, I don’t keep up-to-date with Miss Marschallin’s internal politics. That way madness lies.
Point is, there is a veritable cat parliament out there, and they need valerian to keep on top of the murderous rugs and plotting chairs.
We’d send you pictures but the tablet is throwing a spectacular strop. So here is a poem, with pictures, and credit to Medium-large.com for managing to do with this poem what we cannot.